


Power

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, M/M, No Aftercare, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Murasakibara’s not entirely sure he wants to commit to the effort of sex, although that’s clearly where Himuro would like this to go, and that’s making the slow rise of heat under his skin more of a vague irritant than anything else." Himuro is being a pest, and Murasakibara is irritated until he becomes intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power

Himuro is being a pest again.

All Murasakibara really wants to do is to lie still across his bed, maybe fall asleep or maybe stare blankly at the wall and let boredom pull him into a drowsy haze. But Himuro won’t stop  _touching_  him, although he finally stopped talking after Murasakibara growled with enough threat to stop even the other boy’s words, and Murasakibara’s boredom is pulling him towards sleep but the fingers skimming over his back are pulling his body a different direction entirely. He’s not entirely sure he wants to commit to the effort of sex, although that’s clearly where Himuro would like this to go, and that’s making the slow rise of heat under his skin more of a vague irritant than anything else. He can’t muster the will to reach around to stop Himuro’s touch by force, though, so he stays still, and as his skin draws unwillingly warm the conclusion becomes inevitable without any active decision on his part.

Eventually Murasakibara sighs heavily into the pillow, brings one hand to shove against the bed and roll over onto his back. Himuro is sitting at the very edge, his hand still extended to reach for Murasakibara; after a moment he pulls back, like he thinks Murasakibara rolling over was a rejection. The other boy doesn’t make the effort to roll his eyes at this misreading, but when he waits and Himuro doesn’t move the easiest solution is to reach out, close his fingers into a fist in Himuro’s shirt and drag him bodily down onto the bed alongside Murasakibara. The larger boy’s strength wins out easily over Himuro’s startled resistance, and the other boy hits the bed hard enough that it knocks the air from his lungs. Murasakibara rolls back over as soon as Himuro is flat on his back, before the other has had a chance to catch his breath, moves his leg until he’s straddling Himuro’s thigh and can rock himself in against the resistance of the other boy’s body. His head fits in over Himuro’s shoulder so he can rest his head against the sheets, his other hand drops down on the other boy’s collarbone to hold him in place. He doesn’t need the extra control -- Himuro is making no effort to pull free, Murasakibara can hear his caught breathing pulling faster and warm against his hair -- but it’s as comfortable to rest his hand on Himuro’s shoulder as it is to throw it out over the edge of the bed, and the contact makes Himuro shudder in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant, with the way Murasakibara’s pressed in against him.

“Atsushi,” Himuro starts, and Murasakibara growls against the bed, curls his fingers in a warning grip at Himuro’s shoulder.

“Quiet,” Murasakibara says. “I wanted to  _sleep_.”

“You still could,” Himuro points out, but he’s starting to arch up off the mattress himself, shove in against Murasakibara’s hip. He’s a lot harder than the larger boy is yet; Murasakibara thinks briefly about shifting his hold to the other boy’s hip to hold him down, to stop Himuro from grinding in against him. But he doesn’t want to move more than he has already, and Himuro is breathing harder and shifting in a way that makes Murasakibara’s movements almost unnecessary, and really it’s not like Murasakibara cares what the other does.

“You distracted me,” he points out instead, fits his thumb in against Himuro’s shoulder to steady his grip and slides his knee up a little higher to get a better angle on the rocking motion of his hips. “Now I’m distracted.”

Himuro laughs weakly, the sound pulling apart until it sounds more like a moan than amusement. “I’m not sorry.”

Murasakibara doesn’t have an answer for that, so he just sighs again, shuts his eyes in an attempt to achieve some relaxation, and lets his mind drift while his blood warms with the instinctive pleasure of friction against his length even through his clothes. Their shorts are thin enough that’s it not too much of a loss anyway, and even though he knows he’ll probably have to be a little more active than this if he wants to actually come it’s easy right now to let himself drop into a thoughtless haze of physical sensation. Himuro’s breathing is only a mild distraction, the other boy’s movements settle into sync with his own so they’re helping rather than distracting, and Murasakibara is just starting to think that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea when Himuro shifts under him, pulls sideways like he’s trying to get off the bed. Murasakibara slides his hand across fast, with the whiplash speed he can occasionally muster in a game, closes his fingers hard on Himuro’s skin, and hisses, “Hold  _still_ ” before he realizes that Himuro has gone utterly still, motionless under Murasakibara until he’s not even grinding up for sensation himself.

It takes the larger boy a moment to pull himself back to focused thought, to realize that he’s got bare skin under his thumb and not the fabric of Himuro’s shirt, that he can feel the racing thud of Himuro’s pulse under his fingers. That gets him to lift his head, to look sideways so he can see that his fingers have ended up pressed against Himuro’s throat as far more of a threat than he had originally intended. The other boy’s mouth is open on unvoiced words or an exclamation or a protest, Murasakibara doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly care. What he  _does_  care about is the way his hand looks against Himuro’s neck, how instantly he attained perfect obedience just by moving his fingers a few inches. There’s a rush of prickling heat under his skin, like an electrical shock too mild to be painful and too strong to be ignored, and Murasakibara pushes up onto his knees without even thinking about the loss of pressure against his half-hard length. Himuro blinks, tips his chin down to look at the larger boy; his lips are still parted on that lost reaction, but Murasakibara barely spares a glance for the other boy’s face. He’s far more interested in the pattern of heartbeat he can see just over his fingers, the way Himuro takes a sharp panicked inhale when Murasakibara draws his hand sideways until his fingers are entirely against Himuro’s throat.

They’re both still for a moment. Murasakibara feels warm, languid and oddly weighted with anticipation, maybe, while Himuro is nearly vibrating with tension. Murasakibara can feel the other boy shaking under his fingers, can see the anxious curve of his spine as he angles off the bed unconsciously.

“Are you frightened, Muro-chin?” he asks. His voice is calm, unhurried and slow like he’s turning every word over on his tongue before letting them free.

Himuro swallows, and Murasakibara can feel the motion of his throat even though he’s not even pushing at all beyond the weight of his hand. He blinks, very carefully, as if he thinks Murasakibara might lunge at him in the moment his guard is down, and then he licks his lips and says “Yes,” sounding far more strained than the other boy’s touch deserves.

Murasakibara looks back down to Himuro’s fluttering pulse -- it’s more interesting than the panic in the other’s dark eyes -- and flexes his fingers gently against the other boy’s neck. Himuro takes a sharp inhale that Murasakibara can feel as much as hear, but the larger boy doesn’t bother looking back up to Himuro’s eyes before he leans forward to increase the weight resting on his hand, tightens his fingers into a deliberate hold to cut off the other’s breathing. He can hear the way Himuro’s inhales draw desperate and panicked right away; it’s out of proportion to the pressure, he knows, but there’s some part of that that is his doing, some percentage of Himuro’s air supply that he is choosing to take away.

“Atsushi,” Himuro manages, his voice drawing high in his throat, and Murasakibara pushes harder, closes his fingers until Himuro’s words die off into silence with a strangled sound of protest. The other boy’s hands come up, close at Murasakibara’s wrist, but resisting them takes almost no effort at all. Murasakibara’s not even sure Himuro’s really trying to push him away, wouldn’t be certain except that he can feel the desperate motion of Himuro’s throat under his fingers as the other boy tries and fails to breathe. His movements become more frantic; the hands at Murasakibara’s wrist clutch desperately at the other boy’s skin, he starts to struggle against the bed until Murasakibara starts to think about dodging the movement of the other boy’s legs. Then Himuro gains traction for a moment, arches up off the sheets in a motion as anxious as the look in eyes, and bumps in against Murasakibara’s hip for a moment.

The larger boy blinks at the pressure. It takes him a minute to realize what he’s feeling; then he loosens his fingers, pulls his hand back, and Himuro takes a huge gasping breath and drops back flat to the bed while Murasakibara looks down.

“Muro-chin.” He reaches down, curls his fingers around the edge of Himuro’s shorts and pulls sharply. Himuro makes a faint whining noise that might be protest and might be encouragement, and Murasakibara drags his clothes down to his knees so he can clearly see how hard the other boy is. “You like this.”

It’s not a question. Himuro takes another deep breath like he’s going to say something; then he shuts his mouth, tips his head up at the ceiling, and when he lets out the air slowly it’s an answer. Murasakibara comes a little more upright so his weight is balanced over his knees and he can free both his hands; he reaches for Himuro’s throat first, settles his fingers in against the other boy’s neck like a collar, and Himuro is exhaling in a high desperate whine even before Murasakibara has closed his fingers against the other boy’s cock. Himuro shuts his eyes as soon as Murasakibara touches his length; his lip trembles like he’s thinking about crying, his throat works under Murasakibara’s fingers like he’s on the verge of a sob.

“Open your eyes,” Murasakibara says, and pushes down a little harder on Himuro’s throat. “And look at me.”

There’s a pause; then Himuro swallows again, opens his eyes, and tips his chin down, fixes his eyes on Murasakibara’s face so the larger boy can see the shiver of reaction that washes over his features as Murasakibara jerks up over his length, although any audible response is cut off by the larger boy leaning in harder against his hold. Himuro’s mouth comes open, like parting his lips wider will get him the air he’s struggling for, and Murasakibara can hear the whine of too much volume trying to pass through too small a space even from the distance of his arm from Himuro’s lips. His own blood courses hot through his veins at the sound, at the knowledge that he’s holding Himuro’s life in his hand. He could push harder if he wanted, could keep his fingers tight against Himuro’s throat until the other boy slid into unconsciousness, longer if he felt like it. The power of the realization is like fire in his veins, catches at his rising arousal and brings him to full hardness without any stimulation at all beyond what he already has, nothing to catch his nerve endings but the feel of Himuro trying to breathe against his fingers.

He’s not alone. He can feel Himuro’s cock flushing irrationally harder the more the other boy struggles for breath, the slick of pre-come catching at his fingers and inadvertently drawing his strokes faster with the lessened friction. If he could take a breath Murasakibara is sure Himuro would be groaning, whimpering and shaking like he does when he gets really desperate; as it is he’s just trembling visibly, arching up off the bed like he’s trying to push himself harder into Murasakibara’s hand as his fingers catch uselessly against the other boy’s shirt.

Murasakibara is watching his fingers tense against Himuro’s throat, distracted by that from the fact that Himuro’s gaze has slid away from him; by the time he looks back up the other boy’s eyes are shut, his mouth open for the air he can’t get and his expression starting to drop into slack relaxation. Murasakibara lets his hold on Himuro’s throat go instantly, waits until the other boy draws a sucking gasp of air; then he brings his hand back around, hard and fast so his fingers crack against Himuro’s face. Himuro shouts involuntary surprise at the impact, brings a hand up to touch his reddening cheek, but Murasakibara doesn’t wait for him to recollect his bearing.

“ _Keep your eyes open_ ,” he hisses, burning with mingled fury and arousal from that brief flicker of uncontrolled peace on Himuro’s features. “I can’t tell when you’re about to pass out if I can’t see your eyes.”

Himuro’s eyes are open now; they’re wide and shocked, staring at Murasakibara’s face like he’s having trouble understanding words, and his fingers are lingering at his cheek. Then he swallows hard, jerks his head in a nod of understanding, and when Murasakibara reaches back out Himuro lets his hand drop away from the rising red under his skin and drops back flat to the mattress so Murasakibara can replace his hold. This time he keeps his eyes fixed on the other boy; Murasakibara watches him for a moment to make sure Himuro isn’t going to look away again. Then he starts stroking over Himuro’s again, waits until Himuro is gasping in the first convulsive reaction to the contact so when he shoves down the sound cuts off sharp and clean under his fingers.

Murasakibara doesn’t jerk Himuro off, as a general thing. It’s tiring, and there’s nothing in it for him, though he’s willing to be present while Himuro jerks  _himself_  off, especially because sometimes it ends with a blowjob or sex for him as well. But this is  _interesting_ , it’s fascinating to feel how much harder Himuro gets as he gets more desperate for air, the way his cock jerks under Murasakibara’s touch even as his eyes start to glaze and go out-of-focus until the larger boy loosens his hold, lets him take another lungful of air before he pushes back down. He can tell Himuro is getting close from the way he’s shifting; there’s a new tension in the angle of his back, something more than instinctive need for oxygen. Murasakibara cuts Himuro’s second breath short to chase that down, partially for that and partially because of the cut-off sound of protest Himuro makes at having his airway cut off again before he has a full breath. This time when Himuro’s fixed gaze shifts it has a different look, like he’s staring out past Murasakibara’s head, and when the larger boy drags up hard over his length he’s watching the convulsion shudder through Himuro’s body and doesn’t even mind the sticky spill of the other boy’s come over his fingers.

Murasakibara lets Himuro catch his breath, although the air doesn’t do much to sweep away the dazed heat in the other boy’s eyes. He has to pause anyway, to get his shorts down off his hips and clear of his erection; he’s just free of the fabric when Himuro blinks himself back into some semblance of awareness, pushes himself up onto an elbow to reach out.

“Do you --” he starts before Murasakibara shoves him back flat.

“ _No_ ,” he says before he even knows what Himuro is going to ask. “Hold still.” Himuro doesn’t protest; when Murasakibara reaches back out he even tips his chin up to make space for the other boy’s fingers against his neck. Murasakibara is less consistent about the pressure this time, partially because he’s distracted by the sticky pull of his fingers over himself and partially for the satisfaction of drawing Himuro’s breathing anxious with uncertainty, desperate every time he can get air and impatient when he can’t. Still, the other boy doesn’t fight the pressure actively, and he keeps his eyes open, this time, keeps them fixed on Murasakibara’s face even when the other boy looks away, even when his mouth comes open with that same instinctive, hopeless bid for air he showed initially. Murasakibara is breathing as hard as Himuro, as if he’s trying to inhale for the both of them, staring at the pattern of heartbeat and the anxious motion of the other boy’s throat under the pressure of his fingers. It’s the visual of that that does it, the angle of his fingers against the other boy’s fragile throat that burns him into inevitability, catches his breathing as sharp as Himuro’s for a moment; then he’s groaning low and reflexive, jerking hard over himself while he comes across Himuro’s skin and shirt both.

He drops to the bed first, before letting go of himself and before he lifts his fingers from Himuro’s throat. His hand is sticky, his skin flushed and hot, and habit makes him grimace at the unpleasant evidence of exertion. Then Himuro takes a deep, shuddering breath, and when he rolls in sideways Murasakibara’s gaze is drawn down to the pale skin of Himuro’s throat marked red from the friction of his fingers, the lingering visual of his power on Himuro’s skin as well as tingling in his own hands. When he lets his breath go it sounds more pleased than irritated, and when Himuro curls in against him, pushing him away seems more effort than it’s worth.


End file.
